


Transitions

by allislaughter



Series: Rigged Games [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, POV Third Person, Poetry, Present Tense, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allislaughter/pseuds/allislaughter
Summary: Deacon: The stars are beautiful tonight.Rig: Mm-hmm.Deacon: Do you know what’s even more beautiful?Rig: Mirelurk in lipstick.Deacon:Deacon, in tears: yeah. you got itFollowing the events of The System is Rigged, Rig and Deacon talk about things and about each other.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Rigged Games [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687249
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	Transitions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic directly follows the fanfiction The System is Rigged and proceeds the upcoming sequel in the Rigged Games series. Please read The System is Rigged before reading this for context and to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Copy-pasted from The System is Rigged: For full disclosure, I never actually played any of the Fallout games, but I experience them vicariously through my friend glowstickia (on AO3 and tumblr; follow her fallout blog @falloutglow) and so have her help in writing this story to be as canon compliant/in-character as I can, but in the end this is for my fun and self-indulgence, so if I get anything wrong that accidentally slips past Glow then, to be honest, I'm not all that worried about it.

Rig lies in the grass, facing the clear, starry sky above him. It’s weird, seeing so many stars. Over two hundred years ago, he never would have thought he’d get the chance with bright city lights drowning them out... Waking up, he couldn’t have comprehended what the sky looked like. Those days are a blur to him now anyway. It took a lot of work, a lot of rest and rebuilding strength both physically and mentally to reach the lucidity he’s at now. He vaguely remembers noting how pretty the sky was that first night. But now, now that he’s sober, so to speak...

It took a lot of pain to get to here. He still has some scratches that haven’t fully healed yet from that whole being tackled out a window down a rocky hill thing. Some of the deeper ones that might scar.... At least those scars have better stories to tell than “dropped on his face as a baby” or “fell on the bathroom counter” or “Christmas ornament accident”. Then again, “better” is subjective... But regardless, watching the stars now, knowing that everything on Earth and all humans did to the planet and each other had no bearing on what stars shine above them... It’s peaceful. It’s worth the wait, to lie here now and fully appreciate what others have seen every night for years...

“You falling asleep there, Rigsby?”

Rig looks up as Deacon lowers himself onto the ground next to him. “Nah,” he says. “Not yet.”

“So what are we doing?” Deacon asks. “Stargazing? Ooh, I bet you don’t know the Wasteland Constellations yet.” He points at a group of stars. “See those ones that look like a weird, sideways K? That’s the Brahmin. And that one there with the little crab claws is the Mirelurk. And _that_ one, that looks like a headless man wearing a belt, is the Deathclaw...”

“I don’t...” Rig squints. “Know where you’re pointing.” He looks up at Deacon’s face and then sits up. “Can you even see with those sunglasses on...? It’s dark...”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Deacon shrugs. “I ate my carrots growing up, after all.”

“I think night vision works better when you’re not, uh... wearing sunglasses at night...”

Deacon chuckles. “Oh, call a man your boyfriend and suddenly he’s trying to get you to take off parts of your outfit. What about _you_ , still wearing that flamingo shirt?”

Rig huffs up. “I wasn’t— It’s not like...” He stares at Deacon and then carefully takes off the flamingo shirt and sets it aside. At least he still has on a regular t-shirt. “Well?” he demands.

Deacon laughs. “Touché! Unfortunately, No-Sunglasses-Deacon is a rare commodity reserved only for special occasions.”

“So, like...” Rig squints. “It’s— It’s like your lies, then? You’re using them for comfort reasons.”

Deacon goes silent. Rig grimaces.

“Sorry,” Rig says, looking away. “I wasn’t trying to— to get you to take them off, just... wanted to make sure you’re not messing up your eyesight... S’like reading in the dark, y’know?”

“No, no, I know you didn’t...” Deacon gingerly takes a hold of Rig’s hand. “You know... I heard that you said have a problem with empathy...?”

“...Yeah?” Rig asks.

“You know that doesn’t mean you don’t have good morals, right?” Deacon asks. “You don’t lie to hide something like I do. You just lie because you don’t think about what you’re saying. And you spent the entire time I’ve known you trying to make sure the rest of us are comfortable. Calling Nick the ‘actual Nick’. Telling Echo she doesn’t have to tell you her secrets. That whole thing you said to me in Vault 113. But then you called out Lady on what she did to you and people like you... And you called out Ninety about his BS...”

Rig winces. “I... I mean...”

“But you still...” Deacon hesitates. “You told Lady you didn’t blame her for making that mistake. And Ninety, you may have told him to leave you alone, but you told him to get _help._ You weren’t going to have us shoot him, were you...? Even after everything he did...”

Rig looks up at Deacon. “...The original Rig might have killed someone—perhaps multiple someones since he became a ghoul—but the current Rig Miller is not a killer. You’re right. I _can’t_ kill Macbeth. Not even if I wanted to.”

Deacon takes a breath. “That’s really something, Rigs. You’re something. To go through all of that and still hang onto your morals like that. If Echo hadn’t taken the shot at Ninety, I just might have myself.”

Rig slides up into Deacon’s side. He grabs his flamingo shirt and drapes it over the two of them like a tiny blanket. “...He wasn’t entirely wrong. I did just... move on because it was more convenient. I’m— It— It haunts me, what happened to Rig... That— That you know what happened, somehow, because of whatever it is Echo can do. But I can’t feel... sad about him being gone. Just that he— That he had to die like he did. That people had to die because a bunch of incompetent idiots who didn’t know what they were doing wanted me for some reason. I know it’s not my fault, but I... still feel like it’s my fault...” He rests his head on Deacon’s shoulder. “I just... never wanted bloodshed. I don’t want _more_ bloodshed. I hate knowing that so many people burned to death because of me.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Deacon says. “That’s all on Ninety. Assuming that button he stole actually worked. We don’t know who may have gotten out. And Angle and his ‘angels’, that’s on him for being so trusting of Ninety to start with. And after how Angle treated you way back when... Given how Ninety was treating you based on what Angle said... I don’t blame you for not missing him.” He squeezes Rig’s hand. “What I’m trying to say is... You’re golden. There’s a lot of folks out there who would do far worse things in your position. Comparing you to them is like comparing lead to gold.”

“Well, sure,” Rig frowns. “I’m _Apollo._ Symbol for sun’s the symbol for gold... Classically, I mean...”

“Of course,” Deacon grins. “Who has time for science here? It’s classics all the way down, Rigbert.” He pauses. “Apollo,” he says. “Apollo Ray.” He hums. “Has a different ring to it, huh?”

Rig bursts out giggling. “Yeah, I— I really was 19 when I picked that name, huh? If I had the chance to wait a few years, who knows who I’d be...” His smile fades. “Well... Besides dead. If I got one of the later TST doses I might not have... And that NEO-74 stuff...”

“We’ll keep an eye on you.” Deacon assures. “If anything happens, we’ll figure it out.” He grins. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll sprout wings or get cool Psyker powers. But if you get the power to read minds, you stay out of mine.” He shudders. “Knowing Echo has a friend who can do that makes me nervous enough.”

“Do you think I’ll meet Echo’s friends?” Rig asks. “She compared me to ‘Dan’ once, and I didn’t get to see much of um... the short one who picked us both up at the same time?”

“Nova. And, who knows, maybe you will.” Deacon chuckles. “You know she has a brother too?”

“Besides you?”

“Yeah, surprisingly! A real, bona fide theatre kid without a stage.”

“...And we’re still not talking about you?”

“...I promise, I am referring to a different human being and not me.”

“Okay, cool.”

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, watching the stars and sharing the warmth of each other and of Rig’s shirt. After a moment, Rig looks at Deacon again, catching sight of the side of Deacon’s eye through the arm of his sunglasses.

“You know what’s weird?” Rig asks.

“What’s that?”

“The thing I yelled at Ninety...” Rig looks up at the sky again. “It’s... A lot like what I told my brother the last time I saw him... Before I left Florida for good. After everything he did to hurt me. After everything my parents did to side with him so they wouldn’t be the ones hurt. And he still tried to make himself the victim and gain my sympathy...” He frowns. “It’s— It’s why I hated him so easily. Hated Ninety. Why I knew what to say. The only difference is my brother should have known better. My family should have. Maybe I never would have left and never would have gotten to transition if they did. Ninety, at least... If he gets a second chance, I refuse to let it be around me. But he didn’t deserve what Pits put him through either.” He shakes his head. “But— Can’t say I’m upset how things turned out. Never should have gone through all that, but... If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be me, and I wouldn’t be here with you.”

“Aww,” Deacon coos. “Nothing like trauma and suffering to bring folks together. And they say romance is dead.”

“...I had a poem, once,” Rig says. “I wrote it a long time ago and lost it since then... I don’t remember how it went originally, but I rewrote it...”

“You have it on you?” Deacon asks.

“It’s dark...”

“It’s okay. I’ll take the glasses off.”

Rig blinks. He wordlessly shifts to pull his journal from his pocket and flips through to the correct poem. He watches Deacon slip the sunglasses from his face and clip them to his shirt. Watches his eyes for a second before moving to focus on his lips as he reads the poem...

_I don’t fear the future when I despise the past._ _  
_ _The unknown hasn’t betrayed me or left me an outcast._ _  
_ _Like how the sky holds the sun each and every day,_ _  
_ _I can hold myself up and find my own way._

_The future is brighter than the life that I knew._ _  
_ _The past is discolored by things I went through._ _  
_ _Here in this present, I am built by my trials;_ _  
_ _I only am where I am by traveling these miles._

_But my past doesn’t define me regardless of what I am without it._ _  
_ _The future can find me finding myself a better fit._ _  
_ _I trust the unknown to one day give me new chances;_ _  
_ _For better or worse, I will take these advances._

_In the past I was shunned, in the past I was hurt,_ _  
_ _In the past I was taught I must be alert._   
_The present is the path to a future too bright to see,_ _  
But in my core, I know that I will one day be me._

Rig hears the crack in Deacon’s voice as the poem reaches its end. He takes the journal back and puts it back into his pocket, not saying a word as Deacon rubs at an “eyelash” that got in his eye.

Deacon puts back on his sunglasses. “That’s— That’s a good one. Core, though?”

“More solid than a soul,” Rig says, tapping a hand on his chest. “But more than just a body. The thing that’s at the center of what you are... Even with years of lies made to keep yourself safe. The thing that is _you,_ that no one else gets to define.”

Deacon hums. “You know, you may be in love with my words, but you don’t know the real me... The man under the mystery. I changed my face and my name more times than you could count.”

“So more than 27,” Rig says. “That’s fine. You’ll find what’s really ‘you’ eventually. Transitioning isn’t always one way or one time. Identity’s weird and sometimes you need to try several things before realizing how—and who—you best feel you are.”

Deacon chuckles. “Not what I mean, Rigs.”

“I know,” Rig frowns. “I’m still right. Aren’t I?”

“...Got me there.”

“I...” Rig sighs. “You know when I say ‘I love you’ I don’t mean it like a... romantic way?”

“Mm-hmm,” Deacon nods. “No worries there...”

“I love you,” Rig says. “No matter who you are now or who you end up being years from now. Who you used to be may have shaped who you are now, but I didn’t know that version of you. I wouldn’t want you to judge me based on the small, scared girl I used to be and not the man I am now. But that’s still something that helped shape who I am now. O— Okay? Is that okay?”

“Golden,” Deacon says. “You’re Apollo ‘Rig Miller’ Ray, and that’s all I care about.”

“And you’re Deacon,” Rig says. “Unless you want to go by a different name. But as long as the version of you I know now is better than that version of you that you hate, then I don’t care about that old version of you. As long as all future versions of you are just as good as you now or better, that’s all that matters.”

“...Okay,” Deacon says. He smiles. “You know? I came over here to have a heart to heart with you about how much I care about you.”

Rig winces. “Sorry—”

“Nah, don’t be.” He wraps his arms around Rig and pulls him close. “You just... reminded me who I fell in love with and why.”

Rig smiles. “...But if you wanted to say less romantic words at me and more clever jokes, I’d love that even more.”

“Aaand there’s the other reason I love you.” Deacon laughs and playfully pulls the flamingo shirt over Rig’s head. “I ever tell you about the time I accidentally used a messed up Stealth Boy and turned invisible for a week?”

Rig laughs and pulls the shirt back down. “Ooh, no, tell me.”

_“Well...”_


End file.
